Reach Down and Prove Something
by finchily
Summary: Finding out the Dodgers had moved to LA was a betrayal. This is the last straw. "The Giants won the World Series," Bucky says flatly. "The Giants." Steve nods. "Third time in five years."


Through all his ninety-odd years, through war and memory alteration and decades of cryogenic freezing, one thing remains constant – Bucky Barnes is a Dodgers fan.

Truth be told, it's not really about baseball. If you lived in Brooklyn, you loved the Dodgers. He and Steve went to the games when they had the money and listened on the radio when they didn't, and if they couldn't listen on someone's radio then they made sure to find out who won and by how much and who was MVP by the next morning, because that was what you did.

Finding out the Dodgers had moved to LA was a betrayal. This is the last straw.

"The Giants won the World Series," Bucky says flatly. "The _Giants_."

Steve nods sadly.

"Third time in five years."

The Dodgers were always a pretty bad team. Bucky's self-aware enough to admit it to himself, even if he never will to anybody else. Hating the Giants – that only worked when the Giants were a bad team too. At least then they won sometimes.

"Bumgarner's as good as it gets," Steve notes absently. The radio is still on, the commentators marveling at Bumgarner's four-plus scoreless innings on two days' rest.

"Yeah, and he's wastin' it playin' for the damn Giants," Bucky growls.

Steve wisely doesn't remind him of the Giants' postseason record.

"I want a smoke," says Bucky, standing. "You with?" He steps outside without waiting for an answer.

The air smells like car exhaust, but it's cool and crisp on his skin. He's tired even though he spent the day doing nothing, a wrung-out, flat feeling. He isn't accustomed to it – the Winter Soldier never felt tired. Never felt anything.

He lights the cigarette but doesn't bring it to his lips, watches the little red glow eat its way down. Behind him, he can hear Steve turn off the radio and putter around inside.

There's a pile of soft gray flakes at his feet now. His cigarette is nothing but a stub. It burns out before his eyes on the surface of his metal hand. Time was he'd never have thought twice of wasting anything like this.

Tomorrow, he will put his cigarettes on the shopping list on the nice white refrigerator in the nice sunny kitchen, with its wood paneling and pale Formica countertops, and the next time Steve goes to the store he'll bring them back.

Steve got money from Uncle Sam when he woke up – sixty-some years' captain's pay, plus honorary promotions. Bucky knows he didn't get the same. Steve has been very carefully avoiding telling him one way or another, and that's answer enough in itself.

It doesn't feel like he's living, not really. He drops the cigarette butt, uses the heel of his boot to grind it into the ground, squares his shoulders and heads back inside.

Steve smiles when he sees him.

"There's always next season," he says.

"I want to go back to school," says Bucky. Steve looks surprised.

"I'll…we oughta talk to Sam. He'll know what to do." Steve shrugs. "GI Bill, I guess – but I mean, there's new high school courses and all that…"

"You guess? I thought, after the war was over, you were goin' back to art school."

"Just never did," Steve replies. "They needed me, and I never really thought about it. There's always somebody to fight, y'know? But…look, is it living here with me? 'Cause I know you ain't real happy, Buck, and if you think you'd do better elsewhere I won't stand in your way."

"No, no, I just -" He's not sure how to explain it, this need he has.

He knows he's never going to be the same person he was before the war, but then, he wouldn't have stayed the same anyway. Nobody does.

He's still Bucky Barnes, though. He wants more or less what he's always wanted – a job, a house. Somebody to love.

"Talk to Sam," he says. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. It's still long – at first, he hadn't wanted a stranger with a sharp object anywhere near his head. Then, he just got used to it, same way he let himself settle into this worn-out, monotonous life, nothing to tell one day from the next. It's time for a change.

He'll call Natalia tomorrow, ask if she knows how cut hair.

"Turn the radio on," he adds. "I wanna hear what they're sayin' about Bumgarner."

Steve nods.

"He's a helluva pitcher," he says. "Pity he's not playin' for the Dodgers, huh?" Bucky shrugs. The Dodgers lost; that's how it is, nothing to do about it.

"Guess we just gotta do better next time."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Title from a quote by Nolan Ryan: "One of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something."

I live in Giants territory. Steve and Bucky's chief fault, in my opinion, is that they are Dodgers fans.

For those of you who didn't catch Game 7, it was a real nail-biter. MadBum really is an incredible pitcher.


End file.
